


Murphy's Law of Vacations

by pathera



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Crack, Foggy Is Not Amused, Gen, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Human Disaster Matt Murdock, Matt is inordinately proud of himself, Vacation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-30
Updated: 2017-08-30
Packaged: 2018-12-21 15:37:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11947299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pathera/pseuds/pathera
Summary: When Foggy dragged Matt on vacation he really should have known better than to expect a nice, quiet time.





	Murphy's Law of Vacations

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to another episode of 'pathera procrastinates on the next chapter of Your Words on my Skin and instead writes ridiculous things with Foggy and Matt'! 
> 
> Inspired by [this](http://daredevilkink.dreamwidth.org/8423.html?thread=17210343#cmt17210343) prompt:  
> Someone forces Matt to take a vacation to some distant location. Hilarity ensues, I'm sure.

“You. Me. Beach,” Foggy says joyfully, throwing his arms out as if to embrace the world. “It’s happening, Murdock, so pack your stuff, I have two plane tickets and will accept no excuses.” Matt opens his mouth and Foggy cuts him off almost gleefully. “Before you start, we have no cases lined up, the city is as quiet as it is ever going to be, and you need a vacation. Also, I can and will hogtie you and drag you onto the plane if I have to.”

Matt’s eyebrows arch up over his glasses, a silent challenge of _can you really?_ and Foggy grins. “You should also know that I have Claire on speed dial, she agrees with me, and she offered to drug you into submission if you put up a fight.”

Matt sighs. “Foggy,” he starts, in that soft _I don’t want to crush your hopes and dreams but I’m going to anyway_ tone that Foggy knows like the back of his hand and hates just as much.

Foggy shakes his head. “Nope,” he says, popping the ‘p’ for emphasis. “I already rescheduled all of your appointments. I called Luke Cage and Iron Fist, and they both agreed to keep an eye on Hell’s Kitchen while we’re gone for the week. Our plane leaves tonight at seven and I’m not letting you out of my sight until we’re on board. Consider this a kidnapping, Matt.”

“Foggy,” Matt tries again, but there’s resignation in his voice now as he aims for a last ditch attempt at weaseling out of it. Foggy grins and leans forward.

“Give me one viable excuse, Counselor,” he says.

Matt folds his arms defensively and Foggy knows that he has won. He whoops, throwing up a victory fist-pump and Matt shakes his head, a fond smile creeping onto his face. “This is a terrible idea,” Matt says and Foggy just grins wider.

“Nonsense, Matt,” he says, throwing an arm around Matt’s shoulders. “A sandy beach and warm sunshine, nothing could go wrong with that.”

+

Twenty-four hours and several hundred miles later, Foggy is proven wrong.

“You punched a shark,” Foggy says, in profound tones of dismay.

“You sound like you want me to be sorry,” Matt says cautiously, “but honestly, I am not going to be sorry for this.” His hair is plastered to his forehead in a way that makes him look faintly like a lost member of the Beatles and he is dripping water everywhere.

Foggy buries his head in his hands, not even caring that he’s getting sand all over his forehead. “Do you know how rare shark attacks are, Matt?”

“1 out of 11.5 million,” Matt says promptly. “You’re the one who always had Animal Planet on in the dorm.”

“So out of 11.5 million people, _you_ are the one who gets attacked by a shark.”

Matt folds his arms. “There was no attack, Foggy. Look, I’m not even bleeding. You’re not bleeding. There is no bleeding involved. There was a shark that got a little too close, I punched it, nothing bad happened.”

Foggy’s head comes up. “You’re _proud_ , aren’t you?” he accuses, hearing the little note of satisfaction in Matt’s voice.

Matt can’t quite hide the smug grin. “I’m usually not good in water, it messes with my radar.”

Foggy glares at him. “Okay, no more beaches for us,” he says. “We are going to put you in a nice, confined environment where the wildlife can’t get us. With your luck, you’ll be punching a gator next.”

Matt tips his head to the side. “I could take a gator,” he says contemplatively.

“NO.”

+

“See?” Foggy says, settling down into a poolside chair. “This is better. Pool, sun, we have obnoxiously bright drinks that taste like sunshine and come with little umbrellas, there’s no threat of wildlife. This is the life, Matt.”

Matt takes a sip of his drink and shudders. Foggy isn’t sure if it’s from the cavity-inducing sugar rush or the punch of alcohol hidden behind it. Then Matt goes stiff, his head tilting to the side in a way that Foggy has learned means he is listening to something at a distance. Foggy keeps watching, sees the way the corners of Matt’s mouth turn down, sees the way his jaw clenches together, and he sits up.

“ _No_ ,” he hisses. “Absolutely not, Matt Murdock, you could not possibly have heard anything—“

“Two men over there just placed a ransom call. There’s a drug smuggler bringing in two tons of heroin tonight and if he doesn’t divert the shipment to them they’re going to kill his daughter,” Matt says, and Foggy’s mouth snaps shut.

“How,” Foggy says. He’s not sure what his actual question is, but it doesn’t really matter anyway. “Call the cops,” he adds, because that is what reasonable people would do in this situation. He thinks. He’s not sure that he actually knows any reasonable people.

“I will,” Matt says. “And I’m sure they’ll intercept the drugs. But not in time to save the daughter, or capture those two.”

“You have no costume,” Foggy says, and Matt has the grace to look guilty even as he keeps his silence. Foggy stares at him, then leans forward. “Matthew, did you bring your costume?”

“No,” Matt says. He turns his head to the side though, as if unwilling to lie outright to Foggy’s face. “I may have brought a black outfit though. I thought it would be less suspicious if the TSA checked my bags.”

“And so no one would see _Daredevil_ prancing around Florida at the same time as Matt Murdock, right?” Foggy drawls, and Matt gives a little shrug of his shoulders that means _yes, you are absolutely correct Foggy._ Foggy sighs, looks longingly at the gleaming pool glinting in the sun, and then says “Give me the details and I’ll call the cops. You go do the hero thing and save the girl.” He points a finger at Matt, “and then tomorrow we’re doing something family friendly. Even you can’t ruin the happiest place on earth.”

+

Claire sighs when she sees Foggy’s name come up on her caller ID, and sighs even more when she accepts the video call and sees his face.

“He punched Mickey Mouse,” Foggy says through gritted teeth, and Claire doesn’t even know what to do with that.

Matt’s head comes into frame, looking very put out. “I punched a super villain who was allegedly dressed as Mickey Mouse.”

Foggy’s eyes narrow at him. “ _Allegedly?”_ he hisses. “Matt, I was _there_. I was standing right _there_ as you punched Mickey Mouse’s head off.”

“In my defense,” Matt starts, and Foggy looks like he is seriously considering smothering him with a pillow, “I knew he was in a costume but had no way of telling what that costume was. Also, super villain.”

“There were so many children crying,” Foggy says to Claire. He looks like he’s not far off from crying himself. “Screaming and crying and there are going to be so many lawsuits for trauma if his stupid secret identity ever gets leaked.”

Matt looks pained. “My identity is very secure,” he says, in a voice that is not convincing.

Claire looks at Foggy and Foggy looks at Claire and neither of them comment. Their resounding silence speaks words, and Matt shifts uncomfortably.

“Why are you calling me about this?” Claire asks.

“I am at a loss,” Foggy declares with the dramatic tones of a swooning southern belle from a period drama. “I can’t take him anywhere! He punched a shark, he took down a drug ring, and he punched Mickey Mouse! In three days!”

“I also rescued the drug smuggler’s daughter,” Matt points out.

“He punched a shark?” Claire says, and then shakes her head because she doesn’t want to know, really, she does _not_ want to know. “Never mind. But why are you calling _me_? I am a nurse, not your marriage counselor.”

“We’re not married,” Matt says, and then tilts his head. “Wait, we’re not married, right?”

“Help me,” Foggy begs, and Claire pinches the bridge of her nose.

“Order a mountain of room service, watch a couple of movies, and _don’t leave your room_ ,” she says. “Even the two of you can’t mess that up.”

+

“I give up,” Foggy says, flopping down face first onto his bed. His voice is muffled by the pillows.

“At least this one wasn’t my fault?” Matt asks, and pats Foggy consolingly on the shoulder. Foggy groans into the comforter. Matt prods him with a fingertip until he rolls over onto his back, throwing an arm over his eyes to block out the light. His head aches enough without the added light sensitivity.

“I just wanted ice,” Foggy says. “I should have known better, Claire was right, all we had to do was not leave the room.”

“You couldn’t have known,” Matt says. “What are the chances of two drunk frat boys brawling in the hallway in the middle of the afternoon?”

“We’re in Florida, Matt,” Foggy says. “Today is the first day of spring break. What _weren’t_ the chances of two drunk frat boys brawling in the hallway?”

“Your point may be valid,” Matt admits. “Still, the chances of that ice bucket hitting you in the head were minuscule at best.”

“We are a comedy of errors,” Foggy says. “I can’t win. We would have been better off staying in New York. At least people just stab you there, they don’t brain you over the head with ice buckets.”

Matt laughs. “It was a good vacation, Foggy,” he says, and Foggy lifts his arm away from his face so that he can check to make sure Matt isn’t also concussed. Matt seems intact, aside from the little smile on his face.

“Are you insane?” Foggy asks, because he’s not sure what is happening otherwise.

Matt shrugs. “I did need to get away from New York for a bit,” he says. “You were right.”

Foggy tries to sit up and flops around ineffectually for a moment before Matt takes pity on him and guides him upright. “You punched a shark,” he says flatly.

“One of my finer moments,” Matt says. “And the beach was nice before that.”

“You stopped a drug ring and a kidnapping.”

“Yes. And laid out by the pool.”

“You punched Mickey Mouse.”

“I stopped a super villain _and_ rode most of the roller coasters. I call it an accomplished day.”

“I got hit in the head by an ice bucket thrown by a drunk frat boy.”

“We had a delicious lunch before that, and you finally got to watch that movie you’ve been complaining about for months since you missed it in theaters.”

Foggy stares at him for a moment, studying the earnest expression on Matt’s face. “I am never going on vacation with you again,” he says, and flops back onto the bed.

“You’re lying,” Matt says, smug about it.

“Nope,” Foggy says. “Never again, Murdock.” Then, “how much trouble do you think you could get into on a cruise?”

“Is that a question or a challenge?” Matt replies.

“You are the worst,” Foggy says, but he’s grinning as he says it.


End file.
